


Your Love Will Save Me

by SSA_SarahSunshine



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Aaron Hotchner Needs a Hug, Angst, Angst and Eventual Fluff, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Autistic Spencer Reid, Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), Bisexual Aaron Hotchner, Blood, D/s, Dom/sub, Drug Use, Drugs, F/M, Fucking, Heid - Freeform, Hotch Whump, Hotch x Reid - Freeform, HotchReid - Freeform, Hurt Aaron Hotchner, Hurt Hotch, Hurt Spencer Reid, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lots of it, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, PTSD, Protective Aaron Hotchner, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Smut, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Spencer and Hotch are in love but at what cost, The unsub is evil, Trauma, Vomit, Whump, and a lot of sexual violence, bile, criminal minds - Freeform, drugged Hotch, eventual nice smut tho, female unsub hurting Hotch, i don't like rape and i don't like noncon stuff BUT I love whumps and angst and hurt so here this is, idk what else to tag, kinky sort of?, maybe idk yet i haven't gotten that far, no deaths tho! Of importance, no safe words :c, normal Criminal minds stuff too, puke, so please be kill me, srsly tho this is going to end up dark so if this stuff triggers you PLEASE do not read it, there will be blood and violence, this whole thing is sad but I plan a happy ending so that's good, throwing up, whumped Hotch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29524806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SSA_SarahSunshine/pseuds/SSA_SarahSunshine
Summary: When Aaron Hotchner is kidnapped by an unstable Unsub, the team has to race against the clock to save him. They have 10 days to find him before he's killed, or worse, changed forever. Their profile tells them that their Unsub is manipulative, cunning, dominant, and a sexual sadist. She will torture Hotch until he breaks. But will Spencer Reid break first if he can't find his love in time?---This fic is for Mature Audiences only. Violence, rape, and domination are strong themes throughout this fic. I wanted to write a Hotch Whump that is very emotional, sad, smutty, and violent. Please read with caution. Don't @ me.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner/Unsub
Comments: 16
Kudos: 34





	1. The First Day

**Author's Note:**

> TW: I will only post this once, so again, if you're a minor, or get triggered easily by the following themes, please DO NOT read this fic. I am a sucker for violence, hurt, trauma, and whumps, so this fic was born. I DO NOT agree with rape/non-con/sexual assault. Just because I write about it doesn't mean it's right. 
> 
> OKAY SO: This fic is about RAPE. Nearly 1 in every 71 men in the United States are raped (1.4%) within their lifetime. It's a HUGE problem that isn't talked about as much as it should be. Men are more likely to never report their assault, therefore they suffer alone. They are NOT alone, and the stigma behind male-on-male or female-on-male rape needs to be abolished. I'm not going to rant about it here, but do know that this fic will be talking about this topic a lot. 
> 
> TW: Violence, rape, drug use, forced drug use, alcohol use, sexual assault, blood, smut (the good kind later on), smut (the bad kind sooner), penetrative sex, anal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected sex, breeding kink, forced orgasm, denied orgasm, PTSD mentions, creampie sort of, small age gap (between Spencer and Hotch- about 10 years I believe), Criminal Minds talk, nothing gory but some owies
> 
> Thank you for reading this if you do. I appreciate every comment/kudos/read.

The world was black and dark and _spinning_. 

No, the world wasn’t spinning, his brain was. His body shook as his mind raced, yet no thoughts were coherent enough to stick. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t see. His eyes were straining against the void, trying desperately to find the light at the end of the tunnel. _Is Spencer okay?_

His body trembled, his muscles convulsing under his clothes. He was freezing.

 _Am I dead?_ That thought held long enough to make his throat feel tight. Is this what death was like? Confusion, darkness, fear, and pain?

_Pain?_

Yes, his wrists. They hurt. He pulled on them, feeling cold metal digging into his flesh. Okay, so he wasn’t dead. At least, he hoped not. If he could still feel pain in death then that was going to suck. 

He was in a chair. He could feel restraints around his chest and thighs, holding him down. He couldn’t move if he wanted to.

He swallowed, his mouth tasting vile and gross. Dry. Slowly he was coming to his senses, his thoughts pushing their way through a muddled mind. He could smell something. Gasoline? 

He still couldn’t see. The sensation of fabric against his face, tickling the tops of his cheeks, would probably explain why. 

He was dizzy. Nauseous. Unsettled. Where was he?

Footsteps echoed around him, heels clicking on asphalt, bouncing off of concrete walls- possibly pillars as well. The metal of something large. A car garage?

_Okay. Good. This is good. I need to focus on what I can. I need to gather my thoughts and push the fog away. I need to be thinking clearly._

“Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. Wow. What a title,” a voice mocked, the footsteps growing closer. The voice was female. “You were a pain in the ass to get here, you know that?” Her footfalls stopped short of him. He inhaled slowly, trying to sit as straight as he could. He wouldn’t show fear. 

“Where am I?” He tried to keep his voice steady, stern, composed. He wouldn’t waver. His voice sounded so far away.

“Oh honey, you don’t get to ask the questions,” she cooed, cold metal lifting his chin. He had enough guns pressed against his head to know what it was. He didn’t flinch. 

“Am I allowed to know why I’m here?” He asked, with no fear as he heard the hammer cock back. 

She hummed, tsked, then pulled the gun away, his head dropping, “What do you last remember, Agent Hotchner?” She was grinning. He could hear it. 

His mind was still slower than he wanted it to be. The world still spun, but thankfully it had calmed. His nausea was ever-present. That probably wasn’t going away any time soon. 

He recalled being in the motel, talking to Reid. They were going over some notes on the Unsub that Reid had made. Something about the Unsub being possessive. Dominant. Then nothing. 

Wait, what happened to Reid? _Did she hurt Spencer?_

His heart was heavy in his chest, pounding loudly in his ears, “Did you take anyone else?”

She laughed. _Laughed!_ Like this was all some sort of joke! “The pretty boy? No, I didn’t touch him. He’s fine if that’s who you were worried about. I only wanted you.” 

_Thank God. He’s okay._

“Why?” He strained against his restraints a little, testing them again now that the fog was mostly cleared. They were solid. He wouldn’t be getting out of this easily.

A slap came across his face, sending his head sideways with a sting. He coughed at the suddenness of it, blinking wildly behind his blindfold. 

“I said that you don’t get to ask questions!” She shrieked, her voice carrying through the structure. _Are we underground? That would explain why I’m so cold._

He stayed silent, letting his head hang, allowing the burn on his cheek to wake him up. The situation was bad- he had most likely been drugged- but if she left Reid behind then at least he was safe. Reid was safe. That’s all that mattered. _Spencer is safe._

Hopefully, the team would find him soon. It was only a matter of time before they figured out where he was, right? 

_Right?_

“And when you are allowed to talk,” she spoke, venom in her words, “you will refer to me as ma’am.”

He held back the urge to gag as his stomach rolled. Right, dominant personality. 

“Do I make myself clear?” She asked, the tip of the gun pressing against his temple. He debated on not replying at all, but he wasn’t sure if that would get him killed. She needed the power, to be in control. So, if it would save him, he would need to play into it. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good boy,” she cooed, pulling the gun away again, “Now it’s my turn to ask questions, okay? Answer me honestly or I’ll be mad. And you don’t wanna make your mistress mad, do you?”

The rolling of his stomach was threatening him. He swallowed thickly, trying to keep composure. _We profiled our Unsub as being a sexual sadist. She gets off on this._ He needed to play the part of her submissive if he wanted to get out of here alive. But as he opened his mouth to reply, his shoulders tensed and his mind raced. 

This was going to be much more difficult than he thought. 

“Yes, ma’am.” His words tasted vile in his mouth. 

She hummed approvingly, walking around him, “I love breaking big bad men down to nothing,” she whispered to herself, “It’s fun to watch them fight against their alpha male manliness.”

His insides felt hot. Embarrassment? Anger?

“So Mr. Aaron,” she started, coming up behind him, whispering in his ear, her breath hot in his neck, “Are you single?”

He resisted the urge to swallow again. _No._ “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Hmm, I think you’re lying to me.”

A sharp manicured nail trailed down his cheek and across his jaw, forcing him to tilt his head as she inhaled the scent of his cologne. She giggled, “I’ve been watching you this past week. Studying your whole team, actually. I wanted to pick out the strongest member. It would be my greatest challenge yet! To break down dumb jocks in this small town is one thing, but an FBI Agent? Someone who’s seen the worst of humanity and is still standing strong against the world? Now that’s a challenge!”

He flexed his hands against their bindings. Handcuffs, it felt like. Probably his own. He usually kept the key in the inner pocket of his suit jacket, but he wasn’t sure if he was still wearing it. Not that he could get the key from this position anyway. 

“You’ve been watching my team?” He asked, wanting to steer the conversation in his favor. She lightly smacked his cheek with two fingers, pouting into his ear, “What did I say about asking questions? Don’t speak unless spoken to, you brat.”

He heard himself huff. He was growing annoyed. 

She stood and walked around him again, her heels echoing in the large space. _Definitely a car garage._

“So I’m going to ask again. Are you single, Aaron?”

He didn’t even hesitate, “Yes.” _No. But I won’t give you a reason to hurt him._

The slap that came across his face made his neck crack as his head was thrown to the side. He could taste blood on his bottom lip. It stung.

“I said don’t lie to me! I just told you that I’ve been studying you all week! You don’t think I didn’t notice the way you look at that pretty little boy on your team? The way he looks at you? You have him wrapped around your finger, don’t you?” She leaned her hands on his thighs, pushing the barrel of her gun right against his stomach, her breath fanning across his face, “I bet you tie him up in bed, hmm? Make him beg to be touched? I bet you hurt him too. You’re so tight-laced, all suit and ties, all serious all the time. You need to be in control in the bedroom, don’t you?” 

He swallowed, trying to turn his head to the side, even if to stop smelling her breath. Peppermint and eggs. A gross combination that reminded him of how nauseous he was. 

She pushed the gun into his gut, forcing a grunt from him, “You’re so typical. All man all the time, hmm? I am _so_ going to enjoy destroying every barrier you’ve put in place in your mind. I’m going to make you a writhing mess, begging to be touched, to be fucked. Just like you do to your boy. I’m going to beat you down, mark you, and make you mine. I’m going to do to you what you do to him. I’m going to leave you broken and bruised.”

Aaron Hotchner was many things. A leader- and a great one at that. Brave, strong, and bold. He was a jackass. He was too serious for his own good most days. He loved his son with everything he had, making sure Jack would never feel abandoned or alone. And he loved Spencer Reid. He loved Spencer more than life itself. 

He would never hurt Spencer. 

“I don’t hurt him,” he heard himself say, his breath hitching in his throat. His bravado was fading every time she spoke. _He was terrified_. 

She laughed, kissing his cheek, “Oh, I’m _sure_ you don’t, honey. Don’t think I didn’t see the bruises on his wrists or his neck.”

 _That wasn’t from me_ , he wanted to say. _That was from our last case. I would never hurt him. Never._ But he knew it was no use. If he spoke out of turn again he wasn’t sure if she would just shoot him. So, he stayed silent. 

“You’re so cute, Aaron,” she cooed, wrapping her arms around his neck and straddling his lap. He grunted at her weight on his thighs, pressing the crook of his knees into the edge of the chair. It hurt. “You know, usually after I break those big mean men down, I kill them. But, of course you know, because you’ve been ‘working my case’, right?” There was a taunt in her tone. She was trying to get a rise out of him. 

He debated on replying, of giving in to her words. 

She started kissing down his neck, tapping the side of the gun on the back of his head to remind him to speak. He shuddered as she licked under his ear, forcing his voice to sound steady, “Yes, I have been. You keep your victims for 10 days, repeatedly assaulting them, before shooting them in the head.”

“Yes, _ma’am_ ,” she reminded him with a whisper, biting into his neck softly. He grunted in response. His insides were on fire, a cocktail of anxiety, fear, guilt, and anger swirling around in his stomach. He wanted to puke. He wanted to shove her off of him. He wanted to punch her. 

_He wanted Spencer._

“And I don’t assault them,” she corrected, moving to the other side of his neck, forcing him to tilt his head for better access to his pulse point, “I show them how freeing it is to be owned, to be under the control of someone else.” She kissed along his skin, open-mouthed, moaning into it. 

He closed his eyes tightly behind the blindfold, trying to ignore her actions the best he could. He would _not_ allow his body to betray him. _I hope the team gets here soon._

Her free hand traveled down his chest, across his stomach, and over his crotch. He inhaled sharply as she palmed him through his pants, her fingers delicately dancing across his soft bulge. She was practically purring, “Oooh Aaron. You’re sure packing, aren’t you? You’re not even hard and I can feel how large you are. I’m so excited to see you when you are hard and aching for me. I can’t wait to hear you beg for me to help you cum.”

His voice was strained in his throat, “That’s not going to happen.”

She chuckled, standing and pulling away from him, “We’ll see about that. Every man says that, and every man ends up begging.”

As her heels walked away, he shivered. He finally puked, turning his head and heaving onto the floor, his stomach rolling uncomfortably and his throat burning from the acid. He could feel blood, saliva, and vomit drip down his chin. 

At least this was happening to him, and not anyone else on the team. He could take it. He could handle whatever she threw at him. If he had to act the part of the submissive, he would. Because he was strong enough to survive this. 

_At least Spencer’s okay._


	2. End of the First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch is missing. Spencer is doing his best to keep it together while the team tries to find him.   
> Unfortunately, they have very little to go on.
> 
> 9 days left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I edit this? Sort of.   
> Should I edit it some more or have someone proofread it? Probably.  
> Am I going to do that? No.  
> So here is my classic semi-edited rushed chapter two!  
> Hope you enjoy~ 
> 
> TW's still in effect. Like, forever. Just so you all know.

Spencer was  _ not okay _ . 

Precisely 10 hours, 23 minutes, and 47 seconds ago was when he last saw Aaron before he awoke in the motel’s lobby, Morgan and JJ standing over him and shaking his shoulders. 10 hours, 24 minutes, and 2 seconds since he spoke to his boss- his Love- going over some notes from the earlier profile they had delivered to the New York City PD. He had needed to confirm something with Aaron- whatever it was wasn’t necessary anymore- because Aaron was missing. 

Of course they searched the entire motel first. Then they called the station to see if maybe he had gone back to work on something. They spoke with the Chief, with the detective helping on the case, with the front desk lady of the motel. They called Strauss. They called Aaron’s cell. It was on the floor in the lobby. 

And Spencer’s head was  _ killing  _ him. 

He refused to go to the hospital (no matter how much JJ nagged him to do so). _ “Maybe you were drugged? You don’t remember anything.”  _ No, he didn’t remember anything, and yes, he probably  _ was _ drugged. But the fear of Aaron being taken by their Unsub was stronger than the fear of drugs in his system. 

That didn’t mean the fear wasn’t  _ there.  _ It was just on the backburner. For now. 

His leg bounced a little too roughly as his foot became numb, his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. Why were they just sitting here? Why weren’t they out there, looking for Aaron? 

_ Why were they just sitting here!? _

“Reid?”

Spencer flinched at Morgan’s voice invading his space. He didn’t move, choosing to stare at the motel lobby’s ugly brown and red carpet. The patterns were supposed to look like roses, he guessed. They faded a long time ago. The little place was all they could get into at the last minute when they arrived in New York three days ago. It was probably built in the ‘60s, the decor not having been updated since. Ugly, old, faded. Falling apart. Scuffs and dirt are a permanent part of the carpet now from years of consistent use. 

_ “Reid?” _

Aaron’s apartment was nicer, newer. Smaller. Comfortable. The leather couch was uncomfortable on his skin, but he never said anything. Aaron knew. He could tell. Damn profiler in him. Spencer remembered being shocked when he came over and saw the new couch. It was grey and had large pillows. The fabric was much more comfortable than faux leather. He liked to feel it under his fingertips, idly running his hand along the arm as he watched TV. He liked the contrast of the soft fuzzy blanket Aaron would drape over him when he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. Warm. Comfortable. Safe. Aaron asked him to move in two weeks ago. He agreed to once his lease was up. He practically lived there anyway. Warm. Safe. Home.

“Reid?” Morgan’s hand was on his shoulder, gentle, a very light touch, just enough to pull him from his thoughts and make him glance up, his eyes focusing on his friend, “Hmm?”

“Thought I lost you for a minute there,” Morgan jested, his smile small but warm. He pulled his hand away, motioning towards Rossi, “We’re going to the station. Garcia has something from the surveillance cameras at the gas station down the street.”

Spencer felt his heart beating against his chest, swallowing, “Was it her? Our Unsub?” They didn’t have a name for her yet, but they had a face. Decently average woman in her late 30’s, dull brown hair with blonde roots, a round face, and she always seemed to be wearing something bright red. They were waiting on facial recognition before Hotch went missing.

Something flashed behind Morgan’s eyes, “We don’t know yet.”

Spencer frowned, standing to his full height. He was a couple of inches taller than Morgan when he wasn’t slumped. “Okay. Let’s go.”

He’d rather be searching the streets, screaming Aaron’s name, looking for him, but he knew he couldn’t. He should have been taken off the case already, really, especially since he was so closely compromised. Truthfully, though, the whole team should have been taken off the case. But Rossi had a way with words. They weren’t going anywhere. And if Rossi had a say in anything, Reid wouldn’t be going anywhere either. 

It was difficult, though. To think critically. To be logical. 10 hours 30 minutes and 16 seconds ago, his partner went missing. His partner of three years, 7 months, and 14 days. His partner, who he’s loved from the moment they met. His partner, who was there for him on his best days, on his worst days, and every day in between. And now, he couldn’t even stay focused long enough to help him in return. 

If it  _ was _ their Unsub, the sexual sadist who the local media has lovingly dubbed “The Widowmaker,” then Aaron was in much more trouble than they initially thought. It meant they were on a time limit. 

9 days, 14 hours, and roughly 30 seconds is all they had to find him before he was executed. After being sexually tortured.

Spencer stared out of the window of the SUV as they rode to the station. The clock was ticking. And he felt utterly, hopelessly, useless. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Hotch had been moved. The blindfold and the drugs made it hard to discern where he was being moved to, or how long it took to go from the middle of a car garage to wherever he was now. The Unsub couldn’t be working alone. He had felt her body on top of his already when she straddled him. He knew her face from the camera outside of the last abduction site. She was relatively small for a woman. And, in comparison to him, she should have been struggling to move him. 

So she must have had a male partner. Someone large enough to half-carry, half-drag him from the chair to the vehicle. A van of some sort. He was pricked with a needle before being untied, the sedative already taking effect, but he was aware enough to recognize the sound of a van’s sliding door being opened. Then slammed closed after he was tossed into the back. 

The handcuffs were digging into his wrists. They hurt. He could feel the bruises forming already, the pulse point on his left wrist aching the most. Hopefully, the metal wouldn’t cut into his flesh. 

As the van moved, he could hear  _ her _ talking in the front seat. Was she talking to herself or her partner? They didn’t profile a partner, but it made sense. Maybe that was what Reid was trying to tell him before he was drugged. Would the partner be submissive then? Maybe he could play on that to save himself. Maybe.

He couldn’t understand her words. They were fading in and out, along with the rest of the world. He just wanted to sleep. He wanted his mind to take him far away from the back of a smelly van. With Spencer was in his arms, the younger man smiling up at him shyly, his cheeks rosy as he blushed. 

And then Spencer was speaking, but Hotch couldn’t hear what he said. He furrowed his brows, reaching to touch Spencer’s face, to tuck a piece of wild curly hair behind his ear, but his hand went through him. Spencer was gone, leaving him standing in his kitchen alone, looking around, feeling lost. 

“Spencer?” He started walking towards the living room, looking over the couch and under the blanket. Nothing. He walked down the hall towards his bedroom, his eyes settling on the bed. He could see himself there, with Spencer in his arms. Neither were wearing shirts, but their pajama bottoms were both still on. Spencer’s fingers traced over one of the scars that Foyet left on Aaron’s chest, his eyes intensely focused on his task. Aaron just watched him, admiring the details of his lover’s face. 

Hotch stood there, confused, watching this scene play out before him. He watched himself(?) take Spencer’s chin in his hand, delicately, gently, and tilt his head towards him. They kissed softly, their lips melding together perfectly. 

His heart ached. He wanted nothing more than to do that right now, to kiss Spencer and tell him that he loved him. 

He was jolted awake as rough hands grabbed him by the shoulders, yanking him from the van’s floor and onto the ground. He coughed as his head smacked into the dirt, dust being kicked up into his face. The same hands grabbed him again, pulling him to his feet and shoving him forward. His body was heavy, and his mind was muddled. Where was he?

The sound of a door opening caught his attention. He was lead through, the air feeling stickier and more humid once he was inside. Large hands shoved him down a set of stairs. It happened too fast, his hands still behind his back, his head smacking onto the concrete steps- his ribs screaming as he rolled down the last bit- his body crumpling at the bottom. He coughed, wheezing, groaned. He would not cry. _ But fuck it hurt! _

Heels clicked down the steps, one at a time, a soft ‘tsking’ coming from the Unsub, “Oops. I told him to be gentle with you. Guess I should have been more stern.”

Hotch’s shoulders trembled. His body hurt. His head hurt. He groaned again.

She kicked him, forcing him to roll onto his stomach, inhaling dirt and who-knows-what-else from the basement floor. “Pick him up, please. You know what to do.”

Heavy footfalls came next, descending the stairs slowly. Hotch grunted. His ribs were definitely bruised from that fall. Thankfully they didn’t feel broken.  _ Yet _ .

His body was lifted from the ground and dragged along the floor before he was tossed onto what felt like a bed. It wasn’t very comfortable- somewhat hard, actually. He probably preferred the floor. 

His hands were uncuffed, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to try and defend himself before he was rebound, his arms stretched above his head and tied tightly to a pole with a very itchy rope. It stung his already bruised wrists as the rope fibers dug into his skin.  _ Fuck. _

His legs were next, yanked wide and tied at the ankles to something hard and sturdy. He tried to pull back, but his limbs were too heavy, too weak still from whatever they drugged him with. He could only let this man manipulate his body however he pleased and do nothing about it. At least he was still dressed. That was something.

Heavy footsteps retreated, going back up the stairs, then slamming the door.

He inhaled slowly.  _ One, two, three, four. _ Exhaled slowly.  _ One, two, three, four _ . He needed to remain calm. 

Spencer was working on the geological profile. They had it narrowed down to the specific 22-mile radius of the island of Manhattan. Men would go missing anywhere in New York, but the bodies were being found right outside of Manhattan. Hotch didn’t quite understand where the statistics fit, but if Reid was sure the Unsub lived in Manhattan, then he was too. 

22 miles wasn’t that much to look over. They needed probable cause to be beating down doors and searching homes for abducted men, but it was more than nothing. At least the team would have an idea of where he was. If the profile was right. 

_ Which it would be. Because his genius, Spencer, made it.  _

Heels clicked on the floor, pacing, before coming to the side of the bed. Hotch held his breath as he felt her fingers trace over his face before going around the back of his head. She untied his blindfold, letting it fall away. 

The light was too bright. He winced, closing his eyes tightly and turning his head to the side. It felt like waking up in the hospital. The fact that he  _ knew  _ what that was like was something he tried to ignore. 

“I hope you like your new home, Aaron. I spent so much time making it perfect for you,” she sang, walking in front of him and using something to lift his chin, “Look at me when I talk to you.”

He blinked his eyes open, his vision a little fuzzy. He mumbled, “I think the sedative is still messing with me.”

She tsked, “Not used to drugs? I saw that your partner had track marks on his arms. I assumed you would too.” He felt her roll up his sleeve, investigating the crook of his elbow, “Hmm, I guess not. You’re too good for that, then? Drugs? What was your little lover’s poison of choice? Heroin? It’s always Heroin.”

Hotch bit back his pride, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of replying. 

As his vision cleared, he got a good look at her. She was wearing a bright red, very low-cut top, with a black lace bra underneath. Her skirt looked more like what “schoolgirls” wore in those cheesy porno flicks he recalled watching as a teenager. She had a leather crop in her hand, using the end of it to lift his chin. 

She was _ really _ into this whole domination thing, wasn’t she?

At his lack of response, she furrowed her brows, “You’re going to be a tough one to crack, huh? Good. I like when they’re tougher. I get to hurt them more.” The crop left his chin and tapped his cheek. He turned his head the other way, taking in the room. 

Along the wall was a bookshelf, but instead of books, it was filled with… sex toys? Various sizes of phallic objects (some didn’t even look human), vibrators, beads, harnesses hanging from the wall- there was a lot. A lot, a lot. Hotch didn’t even own more than two toys himself. This was excessive. 

“Do you like my collection?” The Unsub asked, strolling to the bookshelf. She picked up one of the dildos, running her hand over the ribbed texture, “This one is my favorite. Modeled after a dragon cock. I mean, what people would assume a dragon cock looks like, I guess. It’s not my biggest toy, but I really love to use it on men. More often than not, it brings out the masochist in them,” she hummed, walking towards him with the toy, “It leaves them bleeding, broken, feeling ripped from the inside out, but they  _ love _ it. This baby hits all the right spots.”

Hotch suddenly realized how much trouble he was in. His mind had been too foggy until this point to understand what was happening besides: _ I was taken and need to get away. _

He swallowed, his eyes averting to look somewhere else- anywhere else. The crop came under his chin, forcing him to look at her, “Don’t worry, baby boy, I won’t use this on you yet. That’s for day four. Or, if you’re lucky, day five. It all depends on how well you listen to your new mistress.”

He frowned, “You’re going to be rather disappointed to learn that I’m not going to submit to you as easily as you wish.” Honestly, he  _ should  _ just submit to her- even if it was an act. He should pretend that he’s enjoying it, that he wants to listen to her.  _ He knew that _ . But, he just couldn’t—his damned pride. Rossi would be angry. 

The crop came across his cheek, a hot sting being left behind as he cried out from the shock of it. She was glaring at him, “Don’t talk back to me, baby boy. Or you won’t be talking at all. I have gags that I’m sure you won’t be a fan of.”

He winced as he glared at her. His cheek burned. He could feel the blood rushing through his face, just under the skin. That would leave a nasty bruise. 

She went back to the bookcase, putting her obnoxious toy back where it belonged. Her fingers skimmed along the wooden shelf as she looked for something else, “There are no safe words,” she informed him, “This isn’t your usual scene. Clearly,” she chuckled to herself, “I am in charge. I am your mistress, your ma’am, and in some cases, I’ll be your mommy. You’re my baby boy, my slave, and my pet. You’ll take whatever I do to you, and you will thank me every time. If you don’t, you will be punished.” She paused, glancing over her shoulder at him, her eyes darkened, “And my pet, you don’t want to be punished.”

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. His stomach dropped, feeling unsettled. Every hair on his arms was standing up.  _ I’m screwed _ .

~~~~~~~~~~

12 hours, 18 minutes, and 21 seconds since Aaron went missing. Spencer had watched the footage on a loop for the past hour, studying everything from the way she walked to how she spoke, her hair bouncing around her face when she laughed at something the gas station attendant said. 

There was a man in the passenger seat of the van. It wasn’t Aaron. 

_ A partner. _ The missing piece of their puzzle. The thing that was so  _ glaringly obvious _ that they should have known from the start, and yet they were on their 4th day in New York and only just learned this critical clue. She was too small to carry those men on her own. So, yes, a partner. Someone larger than her. Probably a brother or lover, he deduced. The submissive in the relationship.

They couldn’t see his face from the footage, just his side profile. Garcia was able to get a very vague idea of his height and weight from what they had. At least 250 lbs, possibly 6 feet tall. Big enough to carry an unconscious Aaron, who was most likely in the back of that van.  _ The van that was right there on the screen, right down the street from the motel, at the gas station Morgan walked to yesterday to get snacks. He was right there. Right there. _

“Hey Spence,” JJ’s voice carried over to him quietly as she entered the room, two cups of coffee in her hands. He didn’t flinch, rewinding the video again and watching it from the beginning. JJ sat beside him, setting one of the cups down in front of him. His eyes flitted to it, stared at it, then glanced to her. She gave him a small smile, “It’s from the little cafe’ next door. I figured you’d rather have something with espresso in it versus the stuff they have here.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his mouth as he picked up the cup, pressing it to his lips. It tasted like hazelnut. “Thanks, JJ.”

“You’re welcome,” her hand was on his arm, patting it softly. She glanced at the monitor, “Have you found anything else?”  _ Besides what we already learned half an hour ago? _

Spencer sighed, running his hand through his hair, deshelving it more than it already was, “No. I’m positive I’ve already deduced everything that I can from this footage. I just… can’t stop watching it. Aaron was right there, in the back of that van, and nobody knew. He had to have been drugged.” His voice was smaller than he’d like, but he didn’t care. As long as it was only JJ in the room, he didn’t mind feeling a little vulnerable. 

When he called Hotch, ‘Aaron,’ he noticed JJ’s eyes widen just a bit. He didn’t usually call his partner by his first name at work. Work was work. Last names only. At home, it was different. But this wasn’t  _ just _ work. This was… something else. He needed to say ‘Aaron,’ to hear the word, to feel his name on his tongue. It comforted him, if only a little bit. 

His fingers were tapping mindlessly against the table, an unknown beat to even himself being played out before him. He was anxious. 

JJ grabbed at his hand, holding it still between hers, lacing their fingers together. If it were anyone else, he would have yanked his hand away, but with her, he just hummed in acknowledgment. She was trying to calm him. “We’ll find him, Spence,” she almost whispered. He nodded, staring at the video that started over again. Her words didn’t register with him. 

“Have you called Jessica yet?”

That brought him from his thoughts. He blinked, turning his head to look at her. No, he hadn’t. “No, not yet. I probably should, huh? She should know.”

“Mmhmm,” JJ hummed, still holding his hand. Her thumb started rubbing little circles against his skin. It was soothing. Something that she did when he was anxious and needed to be calmed down. He didn’t remember when they had started the little calming action, but it was something the two had had for a long time. Little circles. Gentle enough to not be too much, but present enough not to be ignored. 

He swallowed, pausing the video. An APB had been put out on the van right away, and they still had nothing. Facial recognition still had nothing. It felt like they had  _ nothing _ . 

“I’ll call her now,” he said slowly, pulling out his phone, “She should be home with Jack by now.”

“Okay,” JJ murmured, letting go of his hand to stand up. She kissed the back of his head before turning to leave, closing the door to the small room behind her. 

He sighed, his voice shaky. He loved Jessica; she was a fantastic person, an amazing sister-in-law to Aaron (ex-sister-in-law?). She loved Jack and Aaron with her whole being, and was always there for them. Spencer admired her strength for being there after her sister died. It had been a traumatic ordeal, and yet she was there for Aaron through it all. And he himself got along with her well enough, the two having some shared interests. Mainly Jack (and dinosaurs, interestingly enough), but she was family. She accepted _ him  _ as family. He owed so much to her. 

That was why this phone call was so hard. 

_ “Hey Spencer,” _ she greeted him on the second ring, _ “What’s up? How’s New York?” _

“Jessica,” he started, forcing his voice to sound normal, “It’s um, it’s Aaron.”

He could hear her breathing hitch on the other end of the phone, something loud being set down on a countertop,  _ “Is he okay? Hospitalized again?” _

“No, um, he’s missing,” his voice cracked. He wiped angrily at his eyes with his free hand, willing the tears to go away. He had already cried like a baby back at the motel; he didn’t need to waste time by crying now. Crying wasn’t going to find Aaron. 

Jessica was silent for a moment before she whispered,  _ “How long has he been missing?” _ Jack must have been in the room. Spencer gulped down his emotions, “Um, 12 and a half hours. I would have called you sooner but-”

_ “It’s okay, Spencer, it’s okay. I know you’re doing everything you can to find him. Thank you for letting me know. I won’t tell Jack, not yet, but please let me know when you know something, okay? Text me if you have to. I’m here for you, okay?” _ She was such a kind person, he couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh, a hiccup forming in his throat. His mouth tasted like salt and snot. Great. He was crying. 

“Yeah- yeah, I’ll let you know. Thank you, Jess, for taking care of Jack. For being there.”

_ “I mean it, Mr. Genius. I’m here for you too.” _

He laughed again, wiping at his face, smearing the wetness around, “I know. I’ll um, and I’ll text you. I need to go.”

_ “Okay. Bye, Spencer.” _

He hung up, staring down at the screen as he choked back a sob. God, why was he such a crybaby when he needed to be strong? Aaron was probably being tortured right now (or worse, but he didn’t want to think about that), and he was just sitting in a dark room crying about it. He angrily wiped his hands over his eyes, trying to dry his tears. 

His head hurt. 

His heart hurt. 

He just wanted Aaron back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!   
> Please leave comments/kudos to let me know what you think <3  
> I appreciate all of you! <3


	3. The Beginning of Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgan and Reid try to narrow down where the Unsub might be keeping Hotch.   
> Meanwhile, Hotch is not having a great time.
> 
> 8 days remain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~ngl i barely edited this one so like, please be nice if you see errors okay? thanks~~
> 
> This is when the dark stuff starts.   
> Also warning: there's v*mit. I didn't tag it before but I'm adding it to the tags now sooo  
> there's that
> 
> There's also evidence of autistic Spencer in this chapter. Please be nice about it, cause I have autism too, and it's all a spectrum and yeah, anyways, he's a good boy. He's doing his dang best

The basement was humid. It smelled of sweat and sex and lube. It was dusty and grimy and damp. Hotch hated it. 

_ Thank God _ something called the Unsub’s attention away from him before she could do anything. Her partner, who she called “Muffin,” had come down the stairs before she had the chance. He whispered in her ear, causing a rather violent outburst from her. She took her riding crop and slapped it across his face, screaming so loud that there was no way neighbors didn’t hear. 

_ Unless they didn’t have neighbors? _

Hotch winced, his shoulders tense and sore from how his arms were tied above him to the metal pipe along the wall. Muffin rubbed his face with barely any emotion. He wasn’t an attractive man, mostly bald with several scars lining his face. Some looked years old, while others were reasonably fresh. 

Getting the submissive to help him was starting to look less and less likely. The Unsub had abused this man for  _ years.  _ He hardly flinched when she screamed at him. His eyes were dull.

She sighed, giving Hotch a rather unpleasant look before setting the crop down, “I’ll see you tomorrow, baby boy. Something super-duper important requires my attention right now. You be good while I’m gone, okay?” With that, she and Muffin left, the basement door slamming closed behind them. 

Hotch finally relaxed, the tension in his muscles releasing with a sigh. He closed his eyes, allowing his head to roll back on the filthy mattress. He didn’t want to think about what the filth entailed. Instead, he thought about Spencer. He needed to keep his mind sharp while here, especially if he planned an escape. 

Dissociating crossed his thoughts. It wouldn’t have been the first time he would need to do it (and unfortunately, it might not be the last due to this job). But, again, he needed to stay aware. If she came back while he was ‘elsewhere,’ he could be in serious trouble. 

So instead, he debated on allowing himself to sleep. Lightly. Spencer had told him all sorts of facts about light and short naps, how to rest the brain and the body without tuning out altogether. It was easier said than done, especially when said brain and body were still swimming with sedative drugs. Or exhausted from the stress of the past several hours. 

How long had he been missing?

No, he didn’t want to think about that. He inhaled steadily, counting to four, then exhaled. And he thought about Spencer. 

He thought about the first time they slept in the same bed. It was accidental, the two sharing a motel room in Colorado. But in the middle of the night, Spencer had awoken him with his shivering. Hotch didn’t hesitate to climb into the younger man’s bed, wrapping his arms around him to share his warmth. They hadn’t quite admitted their feelings for each other yet, but it was a step in that direction. 

Because they both knew. Hell, the entire team knew. They were the best Goddamn profilers in the world, so of course they knew. But they didn’t say anything. Not for another six months, when Spencer was shot (only in the leg, thank god), and Hotch held his hand over the wound, watching the young man’s blood rush between his fingers. He got emotional. He was distraught, even as Spencer explained that he was fine- the bullet didn’t hit anything vital, it wasn’t as bad as when he was shot in the knee, blah blah blah- Hotch kissed him. He grabbed his face in his bloody hands and kissed him, telling him to shut up and keep pressure on the damn wound. 

Spencer was, oddly enough, not too bothered about blood being on his face. Most likely because he was too preoccupied with staring at Hotch’s mouth after that. They practically skipped the casual dating stage before announcing to the whole team that they were together. The announcement was met with a lot of “finally’s.” And a hug from Penelope. 

Hotch smiled at the memory. 

Being the gentleman he was, he still took Spencer out on dates. They often went to the museum, about once a month (when they could), because of the ever-revolving section of traveling exhibits. The last one they saw was about King Tut’s tomb. Spencer was info-dumping the entire time, his hand held tightly in Hotch’s, his eyes wide with excitement. Hotch could watch and listen to him talk for hours. In fact, he did. He sat and listened to him ramble from one topic to the next, his brain making connections that nobody else could see until he explained them (sometimes 20 minutes down the line). 

Hotch was never a fan of just sitting and watching movies. He liked to keep his body in motion. But Spencer loved going to the movies, especially the summer film festivals. They had gone the last three years in a row. Just so Hotch could see his Love’s bright smile as he translated the French or Spanish films they watched. Was Hotch paying attention?  _ No. _ But Spencer didn’t need to know that. 

Two weeks ago, he had asked Spencer to move in with him. It was about time. He was practically living there already and just paying rent for a place to keep his stuff. Hotch already cleaned out part of his study for Spencer’s collection of books (though he _ knew  _ he would need more space than that). 

The door opened, drawing Hotch from his mind. His muscles were still sore, and his head hurt, but he felt a little refreshed. Maybe he napped after all? 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” her voice called to him in a sing-song fashion. She came into view wearing a black corset with a red skirt. He just frowned at her. Had he fallen asleep? Was it the next day already?

She walked over to her toy shelf, eyeing it for a moment before grabbing a harness and a smaller looking dildo. Not to say it was small because Hotch could tell it was easily 7 or 8 inches. It was just  _ smaller _ . 

He swallowed as she approached him, a wicked grin playing on her ruby red lips, “Are you ready, baby boy? Today I am your Mistress, and you will address me as such. If you’re lucky, I might let you cum.”

His stomach rolled, anxiety coiling tightly in his core. He glared at her, “I’m not afraid of you.” Thank goodness his voice sounded strong, just like he intended. Because truthfully, he was afraid. Not of her, not necessarily, but of the consequences that this was undoubtedly going to have on him. 

He had met enough rape victims to know how his mind and body were going to react to  _ this _ . He already knew the statistics (thank you, Reid) about PTSD and depression levels in male rape victims. He knew the likelihood of never feeling normal again after she took advantage of him. He feared not wanting to be touched or kissed or loved again by Spencer.

_ That  _ is what scared him.

~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


8 days, 12 hours, and 43 minutes until Aaron’s body would show up on the outskirts of Manhattan island, broken, beaten, bruised, and dead. Shot in the forehead. Just like the four victims before him. Dead and gone after days of sexual torture. 

Spencer hit his fist against his forehead for the hundredth time, his eyes closed tightly as he tried to focus.  _ Why couldn’t he focus? Why was he so useless? Why couldn’t he use his genius brain to figure out where Aaron was? What use was his mind if he couldn’t even find Aaron!? _

“Reid,” Morgan’s voice broke through the thoughts, his fingers wrapping around Spencer’s wrist, stilling his movements. Spencer let out a shaky breath, his arm aching from the repetitive motions of hitting himself. His fist was still balled up, his knuckles practically white with how tightly he dug his fingernails into his palm. His head hurt. 

“Hey, let’s try something else,” Morgan soothed, leading Spencer to sit down. Spencer didn’t fight against him, even though he really,  _ really _ wanted to. He knew that Derek was doing what was best for him. But knowing that didn’t help him when his friend stepped away for a moment, letting go of his wrist. His balled fist went right back to lightly hitting his forehead. The repeating motion, the sound of knuckles against his skull, the numbing feeling of being hit over and over again- it helped. It helped, and it hurt. It was bad, but it was good. It was hurting him, but he didn’t care. Wrong, but right. 

“Reid,” Morgan said again, sitting in front of him, “I got something. Here, this is better than hurting yourself.” His voice was calm, gentle, and quiet. Spencer appreciated that. He opened his eyes, looking down at the bright pink blob that Morgan was holding. He blinked slowly, “What is that?” 

Morgan took his hand and gently put the blob into his palm. It was squishy, kind of like play-doh, but it was firm. He took it between both hands and pressed into it, watching it retake its shape relatively quickly. It felt soft under his fingertips. It didn’t irritate him. It wasn’t uncomfortable. He pressed his fingers into it, again and again, watching it change shape before it would go back to normal. 

Before long, he could hear the steady rhythm of the overhead lights again. He could hear phones ringing and people talking beyond the room’s walls the team was allowed to use in the station. And he could think again. 

He swallowed, glancing up at Morgan, who hadn’t moved the entire time. Morgan smiled at him, “Better?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, setting the blob thing down, “What is this?”

“Garcia gave it to me, for you,” Morgan explained, “I don’t remember what it’s called, but it’s a stimming thing. She knew you wouldn’t have brought it in your go-bag, so she gave it to me a while ago to have in case you needed it. I felt like you would need it right now.”

Spencer smiled, glancing at his hands. There were tiny crescent marks in his palm from his fingernails, “Thanks. I feel better.”

“I can tell,” Morgan said as he stood up, ruffling Spencer’s hair a little, eliciting an annoyed grunt from the younger agent. Morgan turned to the board behind him, looking over the evidence they had gathered thus far, “Were you able to narrow down the Unsubs comfort zone? Emily and JJ are with the family of the latest victim, trying to see if he had any connections with the others.”

Spencer glanced back at the map. That damn map. He sighed, “No. I don’t have anything to work off of.” He stood and walked over, standing beside Morgan, looking over the map of Manhattan again, “The M.E. reports showed water in the lungs of the last two victims, but the entire island is kind of surrounded by water. It’s hard to narrow anything down. Except maybe,” he trailed, his eyes studying a particular area. Morgan raised both eyebrows but said nothing. 

Spencer took out his red marker and touched it to a spot near the Midtown tunnel, “All of the bodies were found in the water near here. I think our Unsub is dumping them over the bridge, most likely in the middle of the night-”

“In the city that never sleeps? People would still see that.”

“Not likely. Too many people on their way home or to work, but they would all be in their cars. There wouldn’t be as many people walking about. And if someone saw something, the chances of them reporting it is very slim. That area has a high homeless population. Our Unsub has lived in New York for years, if not her whole life. She would know the traffic patterns, the best time to dump the bodies.”

He taps his pen against his chin, “She shoots them, then dumps them. The last two victims weren’t dead when they hit the water, which is why there was water in their lungs. I would bet she lives in this area,” he made a broad circle on the map.

Morgan patted him on the shoulder, “Good job, Pretty Boy. We’ll have to take a walk around the area and see if anything stands out. There’s got to be a warehouse in the area she’s using. Something where nobody hears the victims.”

Spencer felt his heart drop at that thought, remembering why they were looking at the map in the first place. “Right.”

~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


He wished he was drugged. 

Maybe he’d be able to disassociate easier if he was. Because Lord, he tried. He tried to force his mind elsewhere- anywhere but here. But _ She _ wouldn’t let him. Every single time his eyes grew distant, her crop would come down across his cheek, leaving behind a painful bruise. She was forcing him to stay present in the moment. 

Her thighs were on either side of him as she straddled his lap, her red nails scraping down his bared chest. She was taking an agonizingly long time to undress him. Trying to unsettle him, he assumed. 

Swallowing, Hotch closed his eyes, turning his head away as she kissed jaw, giggling to herself, “Aw, my baby boy. You secretly love this, don’t you? I bet you enjoy the pain I inflict on you,” she ground her hips down against him, forcing a grunt from his throat. He tried to steady his breathing, his nostrils flaring, “Do what you want, but I won’t enjoy a second of it. You’re not attractive enough to get a rise from me.” __

_ Was taunting the Unsub a good idea? _ Probably not. He should just go along with it, but he just couldn’t. His mind, his body, everything was working together to do the exact opposite of that. It wasn’t his nature to submit. It wasn’t right. 

She growled, sitting up and glaring down at him, “Your mouth is begging to be punished, isn’t it? I’m sick of listening to you talk. I’d rather let your body do all the talking for you.” She stood, jumping from the dirty mattress and sauntering her way to the shelf. He couldn’t see what she was doing from his angle, but he felt rather pessimistic about whatever it was she was grabbing. 

When she returned, she held up a gag. With a double-ended dildo on it. Grimacing, he tried to shuffle away, his shoulders protesting wildly to the movement, “I’m sorry- I won’t speak out of turn again,” he heard himself say, really _ really _ not wanting that thing anywhere near him. Her eyes darkened as she smirked, “No, you won’t. And it’s Mistress, to you.”

“I’m sorry,  _ Mistress _ -” the word was poison on his tongue.

She straddled him again, her lack of underwear evident as she sat upon his chest. He swallowed, turning his head to the side. She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her, trying to pry his mouth open with her thumb. He held his jaw shut as tightly as he could- until his teeth started to hurt- refusing to let her put that  _ thing _ past his lips. 

She frowned, pulling her hand away and sighing, “Don’t make me hurt you more, Aaron. I’m already so upset with the number of bruises on that pretty face of yours that I’ve had to give you today. I’m not a fan of damaged goods.”

He made no move to obey. So, with an exaggerated sigh, she plugged his nose between two knuckles. His eyes widened slightly, his head snapping away from her to make her let go. She held him still, pushing the tip of the bright pink (and somewhat veiny) dildo against his lips. He fought against it as long as he could, trying to kick his legs up, yanking his wrists from their pole- the rope dug into his flesh- and bucking his hips. It was all for naught. 

After almost two minutes of fighting, he finally opened his mouth, inhaling sharply before she shoved the entire thing down his throat, his eyes bulging as he gagged around the dry silicone. 

He tried to inhale, to breathe, but he couldn’t! His throat tightened and convulsed around the foreign object, his stomach trying to expel itself- only to be swallowed back down when the vomit couldn’t move past the dildo. His eyes rolled back, his head feeling heavy. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes.

Her voice came to him, soothing, calm, as her fingers carded through his hair, “Shh, baby boy. It’s okay. Relax your throat. If you don’t relax, then you won’t be able to breathe. I don’t want you dying on me today.”

He tried to listen, closing his eyes tightly- his body was starting to feel lighter than before- and relaxing his throat. He wanted to vomit again.

“Shh, that’s good. Relax. Don’t fight it. It’s not even that big,” she said, caressing the sides of his face. After a moment, his throat stopped trying to expel the thick object, relaxing just enough so he could finally inhale through his nose. Tears were now freely running down the sides of his face, pooling past his ears into his hairline. 

Breathing was difficult as saliva slipped down his throat every time he tried to swallow the foreign object. He had never had anything like this in his mouth before. 

She cooed, her fingers tying the ribbon of the gag around the back of his head. The other phallic dildo stood straight up, blocking his view of the room. It was just as pink and silicone and veiny as the one in his throat. He was still struggling to breathe. 

“Now sit still for me while I ride your face, okay?” She smiled down at him, “This will teach you to talk back to me. To forget your manners,” her fingers tapped his cheek affectionately, “now be a good boy.”

He closed his eyes, forcing deep, even breaths through his nose. The tip of the dildo was pressing past the back of his throat, curving down slightly. He could imagine the bulge being easily seen from the outside. It felt large enough to reach his lungs. A few more stray tears slipped past his lash line, mixing with the sweat beading down his face. 

He could feel her body shift as she positioned herself above him, her thighs squeezing his head, his ears being pressed against her hot and sticky skin. He kept his eyes closed, tightly, and tried to think of something else- anything else. 

_ Spencer’s nimble fingers were shuffling cards, his bright smile lighting up a room as he listened to Dave’s stories from the old days. His long and wild hair being pulled back into a low ponytail as he worked on his next Research Paper, his eyes so focused on the task at hand he misses some strands that hang loosely around his face, framing it beautifully. How he relaxes when he’s at home, his legs crisscrossed on the couch with a book in his lap, Aaron’s shirt hanging off his body- he’s too thin. No matter how much Hotch feeds the man, he stays skinny as ever. Slender enough to be picked up and thrown around, tossed onto the bed with a yelp and a laugh before Jack comes running in, demanding to see a new movie- _

Her fingers ran through his hair, yanking on it roughly and forcing him to open his eyes- to hear the sickeningly pornographic sounds that were being made as she rode his face. Sloppy, wet, messy. She must have used lube. It smelled like artificial cherries. Juices (he hoped it was just the lube) dripped off of her dildo and onto his lips, leaking into his mouth. He tried not to gag, his throat tightening around his end of the dildo. 

For a split second, he forgot how to breathe, his whole body trembling as he fought to inhale again. He couldn’t breathe- he couldn’t breathe!

Her hand tightened in his hair, pulling on it again as she moaned, grinding down and forcing his nose to press against her clit, “Oh! Aaron! You are so good for me! So much better than anyone else- ah!” She rolled her hips, rubbing her clit along his nose and the top of his mouth. He tried to buck his hips, to kick, to show her that he wasn’t breathing, but nothing worked. He groaned around the dildo in his throat, but it only egged her on. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, bunny? I knew you liked it rough. I could tell,” she laughed, leaning backward and palming him through his pants. To his horror, he was half-hard. She laughed again, rising from the dildo- a disgusting  _ shulk  _ sound coming from it- her legs shaking just slightly. 

His eyes started to close again. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs were fighting for air, for oxygen, but his throat, his body, wouldn’t calm down enough to allow himself the simple pleasure. The room was growing darker as he lay there, feeling her unzip and pull down his pants. His mind felt cloudy. Cold. Thoughts weren’t coherent. Nothing was. He couldn’t hear. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t taste the cherry lube as the dildo was untied and pulled out of his throat, out his mouth, and away from his body. 

He could just fall asleep. 

He jolted awake, inhaling so sharply, coughing so hard, his head turning to the side as vomit finally made its way up his esophagus and out of his mouth. It tasted of nothing. He continued coughing, inhaling, exhaling-  _ breathing _ . Oh, thank God, he was breathing. He choked back a sob as tears smeared across his face. His tongue tasted of bile, salt, and snot. 

And his chest hurt. 

He blinked wildly, his eyes finally settling on Her as she stood over him, a wooden paddle in her hands. She was frowning, “I thought you could take, but you’re just a little bitch, aren’t you? I can’t believe I had to beat on your chest to force you to breathe. How pathetic.”  _ That would explain the shooting pain under his collarbone _ . 

She tossed the paddle aside, going back to what she was doing before, her hand wrapping around his now soft cock, pumping it lazily. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, the words stumbling from his mouth before he could think, “Please, don’t.”

“What did I tell you about talking? Do you want the gag back in? Hmm? I don’t think so. So shut up and let your body feel this. You’ll enjoy it.” Her words went from harsh to sweet, like the flip of a switch. 

He grimaced as she used both of her hands, one to fondle his balls while the other pumped, coaxing his erection from him. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this _. He did not want this _ . 

But his body betrayed him. His cock grew hard rather quickly, throbbing beneath her careful ministrations, her fingers working him like a damned professional. He bit his lip, turning his head to the side and closing his eyes tightly. If he could focus on the sharp, almost numbing pain in his wrists, then maybe-

He groaned when her mouth came down on him. It wasn’t intentional. He didn’t want to; that was the last thing he wanted- but it was forced past his lips (tasting of vomit and snot) as she ran her tongue across the tip of the head, swirling it around before taking him deeply, pressing her nose against his pelvis. She took him all the way- which was quite a feat, really. He knew he was on the larger side (Spencer sometimes struggled with it still), so her taking him fully into her throat was just enough for his legs to tremble. 

He swallowed down a moan as she bobbed her head, expertly working his body in her favor. 

_ No, no, no! I don’t want this! Why is this happening? Why is my body reacting to this?  _ Tears ran down his cheeks. Sweat was building across his forehead as he panted, the euphoric tingling of an orgasm building throughout his body. His hips bucked on their own when she moaned, vibrations shooting through his pelvis and up his core. The coil was growing tighter and tighter, heat racing through his bloodstream. 

She squeezed his balls, massaging them just so  _ perfectly _ -

He groaned as he came, his head falling back, curses passing his lips, thick ropes of cum being shot down her throat. And she swallowed every drop. His body trembled, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his sides and arms. He was shaking. 

She pulled back, her lips leaving his cock with a  _ pop _ . She smiled up at him, looking rather pleased with herself, “I knew you would like that. I’ve been told I give the best blowjobs,” she giggled, standing to her full height. She glanced at a clock on the wall- of course, it was out of his line of sight- and frowned, “Well, Aaron, baby, I got things I need to do. I’ll let you rest for a while, and then I’ll feed you. Then we’ll go for round two.”

She eyed him, grinning to herself, “You’re lucky I let you cum. I just really wanted to taste you. I wanted to get to know you on an intimate level that nobody else will ever have again.”

His arms were quivering, his hands numb. He swallowed thickly, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to look at her anymore. 

The sound of her retreating back up the stairs, the basement door closing behind her, was what broke him. His body relaxed, still trembling in some places as the endorphins from his orgasm started to fade. And he cried. Quietly, because he refused to let her hear, but he cried. He cried for _ enjoying _ that- for being put through that. For almost dying. For the taste of bile in his mouth. For how much he missed his beloved Spencer Reid. 

_ At least Spencer is safe. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Like always, comments/kudos are greatly appreciated!  
> You can find me on tumblr! tumblr.com/ssa-sarahsunshine

**Author's Note:**

> If you or someone you know has experienced sexual assault, Call 800.656.HOPE (4673) to be connected with a trained staff member from a sexual assault service provider in your area.


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